


Phase Three

by Bookara



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Newt's Trial, WICKED never stops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 11:45:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookara/pseuds/Bookara
Summary: After the Gladers manage to escape the Scorch, they are put into what Janson calls "phase three". Thomas' trial was the white room of isolation for a month. Newt's trail was watching the boy he loves get tortured day after day...





	Phase Three

**Author's Note:**

> I'm seeing the Death Cure tomorrow so here's this to celebrate the release of the final movie!

“Get the bloody hell off me!” Newt struggled as the WICKED guards tightened their hold on Newt’s upper arms.

“Fighting is just gonna make this worse for you,” one of the guards stated as he dug his fingers into the soft skin of Newt’s underarm. It hurt but he didn’t dare make a sound. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him.

Soon enough Newt was dragged through a doorway, he was able to get his foot on the frame and push back, offsetting the balance of the guards. His escape plan was shut down as quickly as it started. His bad leg gave out, allowing him to be yanked through the open door like he was weightless.

Newt was thrown into a chair, his wrists bound to the arms by thick leather straps before he could even blink. He scowled at the guards as they pulled at him, adjusting his body as if he weren’t a living person. The chair was the only thing in the dark room, it honestly creeped Newt out.

“Where’s Tommy?” Newt let slip out. He regretted it as soon as the words passed his lips.

One of the guards smiled a creepy unsettling smile, it was the tall one with long legs and a thick round middle. “Don’t worry, you’ll see him soon enough.”

“I wanna see him now! Where’s Minho and Fry?” Newt was spitting out questions faster than his brain could think. “Are they okay? Is Tommy okay?”

The guards shook their heads at each other, like Newt was the misbehaved child they were babysitting. “Should we sedate him?”

The other guard, the dark one with a scar along his left cheek, made a weird grunting noise. “No, it’ll just slow everything down. He can’t go anywhere anyways.”

The fat guard seemed satisfied as he looked Newt over again before turning away easily like he didn't just tie a kid to a chair. “You’re right. He’s Janson’s problem now.”

Newt just watched them, fear building up in his chest. He tried to shove it down, but the panic was bubbling up into his throat. He was helpless at the hands of people who weren’t capable of having emotions. He was completely and utterly shucked.

The guards didn’t even look back at him as they left. As soon as they disappeared out the doors Newt started struggling again. There had to be a way to get the restraints undone. He shoved against the structure of the chair. He knew it wouldn’t work, his bad leg was throbbing and the straps were starting to cut into the skin on his wrists, but he still tried.

He stopped struggling as he heard the door swing open again. He felt his lips pull into a deep frown and the panic rise into his throat again. It was the ratman. “Hello Newt.”

Newt didn’t answer, he just scowled.

“This will all be over soon. We're so close to completing the blueprint.”

“No, I'm done. I don’t wanna bloody do this anymore,” Newt managed to choke out, hating the way his voice cracked on the last word. He just wanted to be with his friends.

“It’ll all be worth it in the end Newt, when we find the cure.”

“What are you gonna do to me?”

The ratman smiled a smile that sent chills down Newt’s spine. Then he started walking closer which made Newt try and push his body as far away from the man as it could go.

“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

Before Newt could even tell what he was doing, the ratman slapped something onto the sides of his temples. They were sticky and Newt desperately wanted to itch them.

“What is th-” Newt was cut off as a scratchy scream ripped through his throat. He felt like his brain was on fire, his whole head was spinning and his mouth hung open, sucking in panicked breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut as the white hot pain rippled through his brain.

It was over almost as quickly as it started. “What in the bloody shucking hell was that?!” Newt screamed as he turned his head side to side, trying to get the patches off with his shoulders. He couldn’t go through that again.

The ratman didn’t answer, he just turned and walked through the door, mumbling something as he swung it shut behind him. Newt heard and it made his blood run cold.

“Commence Phase Three.”

* * * 

Newt’s heart rate wouldn’t slow down. He could feel the sticky pads on his temples, a constant reminder that WICKED could shoot unbearable pain through his skull at any second. He couldn’t relax. He tried taking deep breaths, looking around the room, pulling against the straps. He wasn’t sure why they just left him in there, maybe the whole point was just to scare him.

He was about to try and tip the chair over when a light turned on, illuminating the room in a warm white color.

Newt stopped, looking up and squinting at the bulb. How did he not notice that before? Then, the wall in front of him came to life. It turned bright blue, letting off a soft white noise sound.

Newt cocked his head, feeling more confused than scared now. He tried to scoot his chair closer with no success, he concluded it must have been secured to the floor somehow.

An image flashed across the wall, replacing the blue. Newt gasped when he realized what it was. It was Thomas.

“Tommy.” Newt whispered as he watched the boy on the screen. He was dressed in all white, walking around a room that matched his clothes. Newt watched him bang on the walls, calling out to no one. He looked scared. Newt felt sick.

“What are you doing to him?!” Newt yelled. He knew he was being watched, someone could probably hear him.

Newt was about to call out again when a portion of the wall in Thomas’ room swung open. Guards poured in, Newt counted at least seven of them. Thomas was back against the far wall now, his back pressed to the white surface.

Newt couldn’t hear what they were saying, it just sounded like mumbles. No one moved for a few seconds until one of the guards nodded and held up a weapon Newt didn’t even see he had. He pointed it right at Thomas who didn’t move. Shuck him for playing hero all the time.

Newt felt his eyes widen as the guard moved to the front of the group, cocking the weapon. Newt could tell it was a gun of some sort.

The guard cocked it, making Newt’s heart drop. They wouldn’t hurt him, there’s no way they would kill Thomas.

He was wrong. The guard pulled the trigger, hitting Thomas square in the chest with something that looked like a small white grenade.

That's when the screaming started. All Newt could hear was screaming; Thomas screaming. He felt his eyes prick with tears as he started struggling hard in his chair again. “Stop it! You’re hurting him!” Newt yelled his throat raw. “I’ll do whatever you want! Just STOP!” Newt screamed louder, trying to drone out the pained sounds that were ripping through Thomas’ throat.

Newt rocked back and forth in the chair, slamming his hips into the sides as if it would do something. He could see Thomas’ body spazzing on the ground as if every inch of him was on fire. Newt felt a huge pit in his stomach, he wanted nothing more than to be in that room with him. He wanted to beat the guards senseless, shoot them if he had to. He wanted to hold Thomas til it was all over.

Then it hit him.

WICKED knew. Somehow they knew how Newt felt toward Thomas. They were hurting Thomas because Newt loved him.

Newt slammed his hip hard into the side of the chair, feeling a crashing wave of guilt roll over his body. He was about to scream out again when the pain came back. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The pain was worse than anything else he’d ever felt. He couldn’t breathe until it was over.

He slumped back against the backrest of the chair, exhausted. His chest heaved up and down and he could feel the droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead. He focused his attention back on the screen. He didn’t notice that Thomas stopped screaming. He was just laying on the ground now, curled up in a ball.

The guards moved in, circling the boy. He watched one of them pick up Thomas, uncurling his body and holding him up by his underarms.

The guard with the gun held it up again, pointing it back at Thomas’ stomach.

“No no no no,” Newt muttered.

Thomas weakly lifted his head, his cheeks were flushed red and his hair was stuck to his forehead with the sweat that matted it there. Suddenly Thomas slammed his elbow into the stomach of the guy holding him, he fell, dropping Thomas who scrambled across the ground.

Thomas barely got two feet away before the guard sent another one of those white grenades into his back.

The screaming was worse this time. It didn’t even sound human. Thomas’ body was thrashing, like he was trying to get away from something he couldn’t escape. Newt’s eyes burned, he could feel the hot tears in his eyes rolling onto his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get the tears to stop. This was worse than anything WICKED had ever put him through.

“I’m sorry Tommy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Newt repeated over and over again until the screaming stopped.

This time Thomas just looked completely worn out. He was sprawled across the ground, not moving. He flinched when a guard reached for him, dragging him over to a corner of the room. Newt was squeezing the arms of the chair so hard it hurt. He let out a little breath of relief when the guards left. All seven of them poured out of the room, closing the door behind them, returning the room back into just pure white.

It was ten minutes after the door shut. That’s when Thomas started crying.

* * *

Twelve days. Newt watched WICKED torture Thomas for twelve days. At the end of each day someone would come in and bring Newt food, let him use the bathroom and sleep on the floor. In the morning he would get something small to eat before being strapped in the chair again.

He tried to fight them for the first three days. He tried to rip the pads off his temples when he was in the bathroom, but he couldn’t touch them without his fingertips feeling like they were on fire. They started turning on the pads every time the guard was in the room, it hurt so bad blood would trickle from his ears and nose. Newt had to stop resisting.

On the thirteenth day Newt got a big breakfast, which scared him.

“You’ll be back with your other friends tomorrow,” the guard said as he tightened the wrist straps yet again.

Newt spit on him.

The man pretended not to notice as he left the room, but he slammed the door with more force than necessary.

This time the video was different. Thomas wasn’t sleeping when it started. He was awake and sitting on the floor, tracing mindless patterns on the surface with his fingertip.

Newt’s heart ached. Thomas looked awful. His skin was pale, making the dark bags under his eyes stand out even more. His arms and legs were bruised purple and yellow, coloring the skin between the cuts. He looked defeated and that’s what broke Newt the most.

This time only one guard entered the room. Newt felt his heart rate pickup. Something wasn’t right.

The guard pulled a pistol out of the back of his pants and placed it against the broken boy’s forehead.

Newt couldn’t breathe. His hands were shaking. They wouldn’t do it, there’s no way they would go that far.

He saw Thomas look up at the man, his eyes sunken. He looked scared but calm at the same time.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” the guard said coldly as he pushed the barrel harder against Thomas’ forehead. Newt could feel the blood pumping in his ears. Thomas looked like he was going to say something, but he was stopped as everything exploded in a burst of red. The white walls and floor were splattered crimson with blood. Thomas’ body fell to the ground lifeless. Newt couldn’t look at him, half his skull was blown out. The perfect face Newt often dreamed about peppering with tiny kisses was nothing but mangled flesh.

Newt couldn’t stop the sobs that tumbled out from his lips. The tears were rushing down his cheeks at that point. He felt like his entire world was crumbling around him. Thomas was dead. The boy he loved was dead and WICKED killed him.

Newt hung his head in defeat, gripping the arms of the chair so hard his hands were turning white. He bit his lip to try and stop the sobs from coming out. He felt empty inside. WICKED had done it. This was worse than the grievers, worse than the crank infested scorch. WICKED had finally broke him.

Newt cried for what felt like hours, refusing to look up at the screen. The image was burned into his brain. The tears wouldn’t stop.

Newt barely reacted when the guard came into the room this time. He undid Newt’s straps and pulled the pads off his temples. Newt didn’t even wonder how he was able to touch them. He didn’t fight, he had nothing left to fight for.

Newt didn’t say a word as he was dragged to a new room. He didn’t protest as he was shoved roughly inside. He silently looked around, realizing he was in an auditorium of some sort. After realizing he was alone, Newt let himself sit in one of the seats.

He cried himself to sleep.

* * *

“Newt?!”

Newt looked up to see Minho come through the auditorium door. He blinked in surprise, but was up in an instant, throwing his arms around his best friend.

Minho was slightly taken aback but he wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, pulling him tight against his chest. Minho could feel Newt shaking with sobs, so he gently rubbed his hand in circles on the blonde boy’s back.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Newt sniffled into his shoulder and lifted his head up to look the former keeper of the runners in the face. “Tommy’s dead.”

And that’s when Newt told him everything.

* * *

More gladers started pooling in, sometimes a couple came a day, sometimes none at all. Newt and Minho decided not to tell anyone about Thomas, but everyone noticed something was off with Newt. He sat by himself most of the time. The only person he would talk to was Minho.

Newt was sitting in one of the seats, picking at his shoelace when suddenly he heard Minho talking loudly.

“Well I’ve been shucked and gone to heaven. It’s Thomas!”

Newt looked up so fast he probably could have given himself whiplash.

Newt felt winded as he saw the brunette boy standing in the doorway. His hair was clean and fluffy, a dorky smile resting on his face. He looked fine. He was fine.

Newt was running before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around Thomas’ shoulders, shoving his face in the crook of his neck. He was warm and he smelled like soap.

“You’re okay.” Newt mumbled more to himself than Thomas.

“Uh yeah I’m alright Newt,” Thomas said, confusion lacing his voice as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around him.

“There’s nothing to be shucking staring at!” He head Minho snap at probably the other gladers. “Mind your business.”

Newt took a shaky breath and pulled off, gently cradling Thomas’ face in his hands. He trailed his fingers along his skin, carefully tilting his head to inspect for any marks. He looked unharmed. He looked perfect.

Thomas was watching Newt carefully, his breath coming out in soft breaths against Newt’s fingers. He looked so confused, but at this point Newt didn’t care.

He yanked Thomas into another hug, closing his eyes as he mindlessly played with the soft hairs on the back of Thomas’ neck.

He heard Thomas let out a soft hum and rest his head on Newt’s shoulder.

“Am I allowed to ask what this is about?” Thomas asked softly, his hands scrunching the back of Newt’s shirt.

Shivers ran up Newt’s spine at the touch. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to hold the beautiful boy who had no idea how he felt. He knew he owed Thomas an explanation though.

“I thought you were dead,” Newt mumbled against the exposed patch of skin on Thomas’ neck.

Thomas pulled back then, looking confused. “Dead?”

Newt nodded. “They tortured you, with that shucking electric gun thing. Then they bloody shot you, in the face! I saw it...I saw you! Half your bloody head was blown off!” Newt started stammering which made Thomas frown.

“I was in a room. It was all white, my clothes were white. All I did was eat and run. They didn’t let me shower until today, but no one even spoke to me.”

Newt felt like he was kicked in the stomach. It was all a lie. WICKED must have faked a video. Thomas was here. Thomas was fine. None of it mattered, but he still felt sick.

“The ratman, he called it Phase Three.”

“He said that to me too. It must have been an individual test. They probably saw what made us tick most and put us through it.”

“You’re okay though.”

Thomas looked like he was deep in thought for a second. He looked at Newt, his expression softening before asking, “why do you think me dying was your test.”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Newt admitted without hesitation. He was probably making himself more vulnerable by admitting it, but he wanted Thomas to know. He deserved to know. If the world fell to the flare tomorrow, Newt wanted Thomas at least to know how he felt.

Thomas looked a little shocked, his eyes widened and his nose scrunched adorably in confusion. “How did WICKED know that?”

Newt shrugged, feeling a sharp sting of rejection. “Probably because they’re tracking our brains. I don’t bloody know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Thomas asked softly, dropping his voice so no one else could hear.

Newt shrugged. “You had Teresa. I wasn’t gonna get in between you two.”

Thomas was just smiling, making Newt feel like an idiot.

“What?” he snapped harsher than normal.

“Nothing.” Thomas smiled again, pulling Newt against him so his lips were right by his ear. “You’re just cute.”

Newt could feel the smile spreading across his lips. “I bloody better be Tommy.”

Newt looked behind him, seeing all the gladers chatting among themselves, clearly having lost interest in their reunion.

Newt smirked and toyed with the collar of Thomas’ t-shirt, letting his fingers ghost against the soft skin covering his chest. He could feel Thomas shiver when his fingers brushed across the base of his neck. “I’m really bloody glad you aren’t dead Tommy.”

Thomas leaned a little closer, just barely brushing their noses together. “Think Minho will say anything if I kiss you? He’s definitely watching us.”

Newt smiled. “Who cares about bloody Minho?”

That was all Thomas needed before pressing his lips to Newt’s. Newt used his grip on Thomas’ collar to pull the boy closer to him, kissing him back harder. Thomas let his hands rest on Newt’s hips, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs. Their lips starting moving together as they got a feel for how they fit. Newt couldn't ever remember kissing anyone else before, but honestly he didn't even want to. Kissing Thomas felt bloody amazing and if Thomas was going to be his only kiss, so be it.

Newt slightly parted his lips before hearing something to his right and rolling his eyes, pushing away from Thomas in the process.

“Go away Minho.” Newt sighed as he looked at the buff boy standing next to them, grinning like an idiot.

“How’s the baby making going?”

Newt scoffed and looked back at Thomas, dropping his collar. “Looks like you were right.”

Minho lightly punched Thomas’ arm. “I couldn’t let you hog him the whole time. I’m glad you’re alive, I bet you missed me.”

Thomas huffed out a laugh. “Yup, I missed you everyday.”

Minho grinned and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “There’s a bathroom if you guys wanted to get busy before WICKED comes back and ruined our lives all over again.”

Newt rolled his eyes. “You never really did know when to shut your hole did you?”

Minho just laughed as Thomas pulled Newt in for another kiss.

WICKED may ruin their lives again tomorrow, but they couldn't ruin today.

Today, Newt was happy.


End file.
